


crying in public

by tvprince



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, F/F, Fluff, nonverbal oikawa, trans girl iwaizumi hajime, trans girl oikawa tooru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8550247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvprince/pseuds/tvprince
Summary: Tooru looks down the street she spent her first eighteen years of life growing up on and wonders briefly if time actually passes in Miyagi.





	

**Author's Note:**

> remember when i spent a week audiostimming to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQ3h0ZA3FQ0) and cranked over half of this out? Let Me Die

Tooru looks down the street she spent her first eighteen years of life growing up on and wonders briefly if time actually passes in Miyagi.

“It looks exactly the same as we left it…” Hajime mumbles, taking the words right out of Tooru’s mouth.  She smiles because that’s so like Hajime.

After four years of different universities (four years of growing, of separation and reunion, of relief of a friendship that never dies), Hajime and Tooru take one last trip to their hometown before heading to the new apartment waiting for them smack dab in the middle of Tokyo.  Hajime’s used to the rush of the city air, but Tooru can’t help but feel nervous.  She bites down the urge to grab Hajime’s hand, her arm, her shoulder.

They decide to stay with Tooru’s family for the week (Hajime’s parents moved into a small flat closer to town after Hajime’s second year of university), armed with shoulder bags and a few Tokyo trinkets as gifts.  Tooru brushes the gatcham toy in her pocket for Takeru.

It smells like summer even though Tooru’s positive the calendar said October first.  They stop in tandem a house away from the Oikawa residence.  Hajime turns to her.  “Are you feeling alright?”  The way Hajime says it sounds less accusing than it used to in high school, but with the same tone of I Know You’re Not Okay.  Tooru almost laughs aloud.

_Can’t speak today_ she signs to Hajime.  _I love you_ she doesn’t sign.  The words burn and her fingertips twitch.

Hajime levels Tooru a quirk of a grin.  “I thought you were pretty quiet on the train.  Wanna hit the park?”  Tooru nods and Hajime turns like she’d planned this detour.  Something warm bursts in Tooru’s heart.  Popcorn, she thinks.  Tooru walks closer to Hajime with each step until their shoulders brush, windbreaker verses hoodie in a soothing constant hum.

\--

‘The park’ really means the uneven stump in the western edge of the neighborhood park, a good distance from the scattered picnic tables but still far enough from the woods that Tooru skips checking for insects crawling around before falling to the dirt and leaning against the stump.  Hajime takes her seat on the lopsided throne, legs spread to let Tooru nestle between, back against her chest.  Close. 

“Is it okay if I talk?”  Hajime asks into Tooru’s hair, leaning forward, arms resting on her legs as they watch kids they don’t recognize scramble around the park like they own it.  Tooru nods, leaning further into Hajime.

“It feels weird being back.” 

Tooru says nothing.

“It took me so long not to think of Miyagi as home and now it’s kinda unsettling to be back.”

Tooru breathes in the familiar air.  She thinks she understands.  She lets out a long sigh.  Hajime chuckles.

“And it’s gonna be weird getting our flat to feel like home.”  Hajime whispers.  “Why do you move around so much when you’re twenty?”  She asks no one. “Feels so unstable.”

_Fucking college_ Tooru signs.  Hajime barks out a laugh, hard enough to shake Tooru.  Tooru cranes her neck back to flash her a grin.  Studies keep Hajime indoors more than they should and Tooru notices the lack of her usual bushel of summer freckles.  Tooru turns back around and imagines February, pretends the freckles are hibernating in the heat of an old kotatsu in a living room almost as familiar as her own.

Hajime goes quiet, but she breathes deep and even against Tooru’s back.  On the jungle gym, children gather like ants (rushing, hurrying, clumped all together).  Tooru watches a group of elementary kids begin a game of block-off and pretends they are familiar faces.

“I’m happy we’re getting a place together.”  Hajime says while a wild-haired child gets cornered on the monkey bars.  Tooru burns pink to crimson to maroon.  She thinks _I love you_.  She hides her face in Hajime’s leg and mouth’s _Iwa-chan._

A sneeze makes Hajime’s torso tremble and she sniffs miserably.  “I forgot how bad my allergies get here.  Let’s stop by the convenience store so I can grab some antihistamine.”  Hajime stands and offers a hand to Tooru.  Tooru bites her cheek and reminds herself to let go once she’s on her feet.

\--

As always, Tooru walks on the street side to avoid drooping branches tangling in her hair.  She craves strawberries and wonders if the microwave in their new apartment will burn popcorn like the cheap one she bought in college.  Tooru smiles at the cement and watches Hajime maneuver around each crack in the sidewalk with the same tenacity she has for twenty two years. 

Tooru’s told herself (told Hajime, told her parents, told _everyone_ ) that this week will be Worry Free From Apartment Nonsense, but the cars driving past remind her of work schedules.  The oranging leaves remind her of paint yet to be applied.  She thumbs the gatcham capsule and wishes for her planner.

“Hey.  Stop it.  You look constipated.” Hajime tells her.  Tooru gapes, affronted. 

Hajime is smiling.  It breaks Tooru’s heart with how gentle it looks.  “Have you taken your meds today?”

Tooru shakes her head, reaching around to try and manhandle her bag open.

“I’ve got it.  Front left pocket, right?”  Hajime asks as if she doesn’t know the answer already, easily pulling out the small orange tinted vile.  Tooru pops two and dry swallows.  The sight makes Hajime’s nose crinkle.

“I told you how my roommate used to dry swallow his pills right?  And one time he took this giant fucking probiotic and it got caught in his throat and I woke up at like three AM while he retched for half an hour.  Ugh…”  Hajime shudders and Tooru slaps Hajime’s shoulder with no force, laughing breathless and light.

\--

Tooru studies the cheap phone charms military-lined on the counter display while Hajime pays for a travel box of anti-allergy pills, two packets of chewing gum, and a bottle of soda.  It’s only when the door lets out a tinny jingle and a warm breeze remnant of summer hits the two like a popped balloon that Hajime presses her secret fifth purchase into Tooru’s hands.  Tooru holds her hands flat and looks down at the convenience store brand milkbread.  She wraps her fingers around it and feels warm.

“Hurry up and eat it—your mom’ll kill you if you say you’re too full for dinner.” Hajime says and bumps their shoulders together, swinging her plastic bag and making herself busy fiddling with the anti-allergy packet.

_I love you_ Tooru thinks.

\--

They’re nowhere near home anymore, traveling down the memorized path to the high school that’s no longer theirs, past the ramen shop that’s too far to frequent, along the shops and storefronts that feel more nostalgic than familiar.  After an extra two hours of wandering and sores on both their shoulders from bag-slings digging into the skin, Hajime suggests they catch the bus and relax a little before finally getting back.

(Not home.  That house isn’t home anymore.  Home waits in Tokyo.  Home is yet to be made.)

It’s not a long trip, but Tooru sighs and drops her bag to the footprint-muddied bus interior and relishes the chance to rotate her shoulder.

Hajime laughs.  “If you were so sore, we should’ve headed back an hour ago.” She sets her own bag besides Tooru’s, grabbing a hanging handhold as the bus lurches to a steady speed.  Tooru sticks out her tongue, but keeps her fingers to herself, holding a metal bar for support.

The bus hums, low and routine, and Tooru feels sick with nostalgia again.  She can’t decide if everything’s changing too much or staying too similar, but it makes her feet glue to the ground, her stomach coil like snakes.  The scenery moves too fast outside the window, but Tooru stares out it anyway.  She doesn’t know how to explain this feeling to Hajime. 

Six stops away now.

“Oikawa,” Hajime’s voice is soft.  “Hey, what are you thinking about?”

She purses her lips and _still_ can’t think of an answer.

Five stops away.

She knows Hajime’s only worried about her, _always_ worried about her, and that makes it all the worse.  Tooru doesn’t want this to be a sad trip, but something like homesickness burns in her chest.  Something like fear weighs down her fingertips, constrains her vocal chords.  She’s choking.

A hand presses into Tooru’s back and she knows without turning away from the window its Hajime’s

“You don’t have to talk about it.”  Hajime whispers.

_I want to, though_ Tooru thinks.  She licks her lips.

Three stops away.

Tooru wants to make a joke of it, evolve into something lighthearted.  She remembers, suddenly, a speech teacher from high school.

_‘Imagine your feet are roots.  Stabilize yourself.’_

Tooru imagines the trunks of her legs, the roots of her feet.  They tangle in the metal plating of the bus.  They trip themselves under the passengers’ feet.  They gravitate towards Hajime, but never touch. 

Hajime breathes out something too fond to be a sigh, she squeezes Tooru’s shoulder.  She whispers with far too much tenderness, “It’s alright, tough guy.”

Somehow, that’s what does it.  One moment Tooru’s staring at Hajime like the world burst into existence, the next she can’t see much of anything.  Her eyes feel hot and Tooru realizes with sudden horror that she’s _crying._

Tooru chokes out a sob that burns like bourbon.  She’s shaking and Hajime’s voice sounds muddled (worried, gentle, perfect, _god_ it breaks Tooru).  Tooru never saw Hajime pull the cord, but she must have because Hajime ushers them off at a stop (not theirs) moments later, Hajime’s hands hot like kettles (around her wrist, between her shoulder blades) guiding her away from strangers and across concrete, grass, and fallen leaves.  The scenery changes behind teary goggles and she only half registers some quasi-familiar location. 

Tooru’s overflowing with some sorry mix of embarrassment and regret and anger at herself for letting this get so out of hand, for making a scene, for _being_ like this.  She cries because she doesn’t know what else to do and she’s four years old again with Hajime comforting her.  Except she’s _not_ four.  She’s not a neighborhood kid, not a familiar face around town; she’s nothing in this city anymore.  And she’s tried so hard to keep it together but suddenly everything’s changing and rushing and blurring and she feels herself falling behind. 

Hajime still smoothes her hair and whispers something Tooru can’t comprehend in her current state.  She _does_ register Hajime’s voice quivering, knows she’s scared and Tooru suffocates on the guilt of having ever made Hajime feel this way.  She grips Hajime’s jacket like lobster claws.

Hajime leads Tooru to a chair, a bench, _something,_ and pushes her shoulders until she’s sitting.  Tooru hiccups.  She looks up at Hajime.  _How embarrassing_ she thinks. _I love you._ Her breath catches on a cough and she doubles over.  Hajime runs a hand over Tooru’s back, too quickly to be entirely soothing.

“Is it something I said?  God, I’m so sorry, Tooru.”  Hajime’s rambling, self-blaming.  _You do that too often_ Tooru thinks.  _It could never be your fault_.  Tooru grabs until she finds Hajime’s hand, clenching tight, hoping it doesn’t hurt.  She shakes her head.  _Not your fault_.  Tooru’s shaking too fiercely to sign anything, so she tries to press the words from her grip to Hajime’s.  _It’s not you, it’s never been your fault._

Hajime takes a shuddering breath like she wants to argue but won’t, huffing something heartbroken and sad.  Tooru can relate.  She’s still sniffling.  She doesn’t lift her head.  Hajime runs shaking finger through Tooru’s hair, trying to be calm so she can push that nonexistent ease into Tooru.

It hits Tooru how intertwined their idiosyncrasies are, how they both tremble in front of each other, how they crack together.  She thinks _it might turn out okay._

Tooru takes Hajime’s shaking hands in her own.  She buzzes as ice and rocks fill her stomach, her lungs, until they force the words out of her throat.

“I think I’m in love with you, Hajime.”

The words come out gravel from not speaking most of the day and her sudden crying spell, but Hajime catches it all anyway, just like she always does.  Hajime’s eyes go wide, her fingers still trembling.

_It might turn out okay_ Tooru thinks.

Hajime coughs out what might have been a laugh or a cry, befuddled, mouth opening and closing again.  She squeezes Tooru’s hands and sniffles like she can’t think of what to say.

“Don’t scare me like that!” Hajime is trying to be firm, but her eyebrows pull together like surprise, like relief, like fear and Tooru realizes Hajime might be just as mixed up inside right now as she is.

“I’m sorry.”  Tooru whispers.  She holds Hajime’s hands tighter at the realization that she hasn’t pulled away yet.  _It might turn out okay._

“I’ve been worried about you all day…” Hajime’s eyelashes are wet, “And you suddenly start crying… _Jesus_.”  Tooru wants to call her on that, but she’s entranced by the rough way Hajime clutches her hand in both of her own, the tremble of her fingers.  Tooru’s eyes mist over anew.  She stares at their hands, the way Hajime’s fingers twitch when Tooru’s shaking causes her hoodie to brush over Hajime’s knuckles.

“Yeah…. I… I think I’m in love with you too.”  She whispers finally.  Tooru blinks hard and mats her eyelashes damp, looking down at their clasped hands to watch her fingers go white with how hard she holds Hajime’s.

_It might turn out okay_ Tooru thinks when they laugh wetly.

\---

It takes them ten minutes to calm down, Hajime falling into the seat (it was a bench) beside Tooru.  She lets her head fall to Tooru’s shoulder to better mumble a mix of curses and compliments.  Hajime can’t open her eyes, and Tooru’s throat feels caught with emotion, so she draws hearts and crude umbrellas into Hajime’s skin until she smiles.

Tooru thanks Hajime’s conscientious nature when she finds their bags abandoned messily at their feet but _here_ and not stuck on the bus.  It takes them another few minutes to wipe the last of the tears, blow cool air into each others’ eyes as if that would wash away the red rims.  Finally, they give up, grab their bags, and pass what little remains of Hajime’s soda between them until they reach the main road again.  They both slug down the street, past familiar houses, avoiding eye contact with anyone they cross on the sidewalk, but Tooru feels empowered by the nonchalant thumb Hajime’s snagged in the sleeve of her hoodie. 

Like magic, they stand rooted to the same spot a house away from the Oikawa residence, the scene only changed with the drooping sun and the lessened space between Hajime and Tooru. 

“We don’t have to tell them anything right now.”  Hajime whispers, linking her index finger with Tooru’s and pressing into her side.  “We don’t have to tell anyone anything.  We’ve got a fuckload of time ahead.”  She grins and Tooru can’t help but match it.

_I love you_ Tooru thinks. 

This time, she turns to sign it to Hajime as well.

Hajime smiles so warm it burns.  “Yeah,” she says quietly, giving Tooru’s finger a gentle squeeze, “I love you too.”


End file.
